Let's get one thing straight (Think Thoughts.)

My brain is not my friend.
On that note neither is my body.
Both of these offending objects try and kill me on multiple occasions. Normally that processes is attempted like 40 times in the same day. Like today, I've been working my tail off for an 8 hour shift, and I've been doing my best to keep in contact with friends. My brain however, doesn't care. It looks me in the soul and says,
"You're not working hard enough, I wonder if you worked harder people might actually want to spend time with you."

What the hell?
NO!

Listen, I know what that voice is, it's Anxiety or Depression. Some kind of chemical changing my vibe from good to gross in a matter of seconds. No one thinks I'm not working hard, and people love me!
But that doesn't stop the voice.

So, why write this?
Why post yet another homage to my messed up connections?

You might just be thinking the same thing. You might feel useless and hopeless, like no one in the world likes you. Don't believe the hype, you are so wonderful! You're the most wonderful you in the world! The only you.
So don't listen to your bastard track.
You go be the most wonderful you that you can manage.

Gaslighting. (6.3.16)

I am searching.
I am looking for answers in between lines of code.
Strings of data attaching me,
To the Earth like
Anchors.

I am lost.
I am wondering hapless in the night.
Groping around in the darkness,
For a hand to pull me up.
Away.

I wish for little.
Love in the form of
Soft kisses
And 'good nights'.

Why is it
That my soft heart melts
At the sound
Of a blazing gun?

Shenanigan

I'm finding my blooming patience a comfort,
Most days people know where to find me.
A set pace, a streetcar rolling down a triumphant hill.

45 miles per hour.
I pulled myself out of the fire,
I bandaged my heart and got back to work.

Bruised knuckles show where I've been most days,
A subtle kind of excitement washes over my crowd.
I've been waiting years for this.

Splitting grins sit where tears once reigned,
I am the ruler now, this is my domain.

New Dog, New Tricks.

This year's Thanksgiving (or Native American Heritage week for people who know that Chris Columbus was a Major Asshole™ -source- and that the original thanksgiving was a sham.)  break was pretty different from last years.
Well, I still started out by saying C.C. isn't deserving of a holiday, so maybe not super different.

This year I got a job! I worked Black Friday (yes, anti-capitalist Hunter of the past, you took part in the most capitalist holiday of the year. And you were kinda good at it.) I also got a dog. Well the dog actually kinda got me. We were just supposed to be a temporary home for her, but she's so sweet. So now her name is Frieda Friday and she's the most amazing friend ever. 

I'm also almost done with school, and I have my drivers licence appointment soon. Things are really shaping up. OH! I also bought a bed! It's the most adult thing I've spent my money on since I had more than $27 dollars to spend. It's been a pretty good year.
The best thing? My favorite pagan holiday is coming up, Yule. All pine trees and warm feelings.

-H

Seek Medical Attention.

I have a habit.
A very sever habit of staying up for days at a time, and allowing exhaustion to crash over me like a wave. I will stay up for 20 hours and sleep for 2, then repeat until the weekend. Then, and only then, will I crash for 16-24 hours.
I never figured out why I did this, but it's been happening since I was a very little girl. When I was six, I would lay in bed until midnight, then I would creep into my grandpa's lap and watch some R rated movie. I would watch stories of women seeking revenge. I would watch stories of warlords reigning over their territory.
As I got older, the habit grew. With the dawn of the Internet, I used my sleepless nights to learn. Mostly words, sometimes different ideas. I attempted to teach myself other languages and got pretty far in it too. I would watch different stories. Ones of love and heroic sacrifice.
Now I am older still. I sleep less frequently than I did before, I chalk it up to safety. I never feel safe enough to sleep. I don't live in an environment where I feel it's okay to shut down, so I don't until I push myself to the shore of exhaustion.
I want to sleep. Go to bed at eleven, wake up at seven and repeat the process.
But then I feel like I would miss the night and all its charms. The way silence sounds at 3AM. The way hysterical laughter feels after 24+ hours without sleep. I know it isn't good to force yourself into mini comas, but what else could I possibly do.
-H

The Chase.

Vincent Van Gogh told me to go out and taste the stars. To paint them with my wide eyed brush. That same brush that was tinted rose with the words of Emerson and Aristotle. Those 'great' poets told me to live my adventure, and to hold close my dreams. Scientists have spouted for years that I am special. That I am made from the building blocks of universes and I am innumerable.
All throughout my childhood, Doctor Seuss wrote for me a path of confounded prose. Telling me stories of all the places I could go and I believed every word. I remember the first time I picked up a Harry Potter novel and I heard Dumbledore tell me about his mismatched wool socks. I recall the sense of whimsy the words ignited in my chest.
I remember picking up Shakespeare's 'A MidSummer's Night's Dream' and having that whimsy run wild. I was entranced by the pitter patter of Iambic pentameter. I recall being engrossed by Edgar Allen Poe's trokey, as he talked about ravens rapping on his door. All these voices calling to me from the past, inspiring my mind to rebel against my present.
I remember finding out about Van Gogh's depression, Poe's too. I learned about Shakespeare being a drunkard, and my dearest Doctor fighting nazis. The way those realizations dawned upon me, the weight of their words only increased. Suddenly the raven was no longer a mischievous friend, but a sullen companion. No longer did Puck seem to be the lovable scamp, but more the righteous hand of fate.
The beauty of 'Starry Night' became insurmountable.
There is a sense of wonder that never left me. Inspired by the greats of old. They whisper to me while I try to sleep. They tell me their tales and ask me mine.
"Who are you?" They say, and "What are your sorrows?"
I miss the days when I responded freely
"I wish I had more money." "I wish that I was in love."
But now things have changed. I am no longer chasing sorrows, because despite what the greats told me, I chose to chase a more finicky beast. I chose to follow hope. The light that glows in the flowers at dawn. The way the ocean sounds at midnight. I chose to follow my heart and chase my dreams like wisps off a wishing weed. I don't know where this road leads me, because more often than not it's not a road, but I know I will land one day. Wherever I land those greats will follow.
Because people like us can't help but to chase a story.
-H.

A Lot of Shitty Things Happen at One in the Morning.

Hello friends and we are back again with another riveting insight into the brain hole that is Me!
(Little forewarning, I've currently take 80mg of melatonin, and am likely to get hella sleepy at any given point in time.)
This post is all about why you should avoid 1AM to 4AM like the plague.

Reason number one:

• Loneliness is a powerful demon.
• This isn't just a demon that eats you from the inside out, it's the kind that kills your imagination and creativity. Instead of taking the time to think of cool stuff, like a Princess commanding a dinosaur army, you're stuck thinking really sad stuff and life sucks.

Reason two:

• Your penmanship will fucking suck.

Reason three:

• All that bundled up sadness can do some serious damage in the long run.
• Moodiness and emotion, despite what the dead drunks say, are not the muses you want. 
• Sadness is a vixen, she wants to use you for all you have and then leave you to rot like Poe.
• Anger is a temptation, a seducer if you will. He'll hold your hand and pull you along while whispering sweet nothings of revenge to you. The same he did with Mary Shelly. 

Reason four: 

• Whoever said life imitates art is a dirty liar.
• art imitates life, so make your art beautiful. Surround yourself with good vibes and wonderful people. Make your art mean something different than all those who've come to pass. Live your life believing in the good.
• And please for the love of all that is holy. Avoid the danger zone while thinking.

I have more things to say and pictures to add. But I think I'll continue that on another day.

Have a beautiful evening,
H.